It fostered the piety of Jerome, matured the labours of Augustine,
And gave imperial Charles religion for ambition:

That which Scipio praised, that which Alfred practised,

Which fired Demosthenes to eloquence, and fed the mind of Milton,

Which quickened zeal, nurtured genius, found out the secret things of science,

Helped repentance, shamed folly, and comforted the good with peace,

By all men just and wise, by all things pure and perfect,

How truly, Solitude, art thou the fostering nurse of greatness!

Enough; the theme is vast; sear me these necks of Hydra:
What shall drive away the thoughts flocking to this carcass ?
Yea, that all which man may think, hath long been said of Solitude
For many wise have proved and preached its evils and its good.
I cannot add, I will not steal; enough, for all is spoken:
Yet heed thou these for practice and discernment among men.

There are pompous talkers, solemn, oracular, and dull:

Track them from society to solitude; and there ye find them fools.
There are light-hearted jesters, taking up with company for pastime ;
How speed they when alone?-serious, wise, and thoughtful.
And wherefore? both are actors, saving when in solitude,
There they live their truest life, and all things show sincere:
But the fool, by pomposity of speech, striveth to be counted wise,
And the wise, for holiday and pleasance, playeth with the fool's best bauble;
The solemn seemer, as a rule, will be found more ignorant and shallow
Than those who laugh both loud and long, content to hide their knowledge.

For thee; seek thou Solitude, but neither in excess, nor morosely;
Seek her for her precious things, and not of thine own pride.
For there, separate from a crowd, the still small voice will talk with thee,
Truth's whisper, heard and echoed by responding conscience;
There, shalt thou gather up the ravelled skeins of feeling,
And mend the nets of usefulness, and rest awhile for duties;
There, shalt thou hive thy lore, and eat the fruits of study,
For Solitude delighteth well to feed on many thoughts;
There, as thou sittest peaceful, communing with fancy,
The precious poetry of life shall gild its leaden cares;
There, as thou walkest by the sea, beneath the gentle stars,

Many kindling seeds of good will sprout within thy soul;

Thou shalt weep in Solitude,-thou shalt pray in Solitude,

Thou shalt sing for joy of heart, and praise the grace of Solitude.
Pass on, pass on!-for this is the path of Wisdom:

God make thee prosper on the way: I leave thee well with Solitude.

THE END.

EVERY beginning is shrouded in a mist, those vague ideas beyond,
And the traveller setteth on his journey, oppressed with many thoughts,
Balancing his hopes and fears, and looking for some order in the chaos,
Some secret path between the cliffs, that seem to bar his way:
So, he commenceth at a clue, unravelling its tangled skein,
And boldly speedeth on to thread the labyrinth before him.

Then as he gropeth in the darkness, light is attendant on his steps,
He walketh straight in fervent faith, and difficulties vanish at his presence;
The very flashing of his sword scattereth those shadowy foes;

Confident and sanguine of success, he goeth forth conquering and to conquer.

Every middle is burdened with a weariness,—to have to go as far again,—
And Diligence is sick at heart, and Enterprise foot-sore :
That which began in zeal, bursting as a fresh-dug spring,
Goeth on doggedly in toil, and hath no help of nature:

Then, is need of moral might, to wrestle with the animal reaction.
Still to fight, with few men left, and still, though faint, pursuing.
The middle is a marshy flat, whereon the wheels go heavily,
With clouds of doubt above, and ruts of discouragement below:
Press on, sturdy traveller, yet a league, and yet a league !
While every step is binding wings on thy victorious feet.

Every end is happiness, the glorious consummation of design,
The perils past, the fears annulled, the journey at its close:
And the traveller resteth in complacency, home-returned at last:
Work done may claim its wages, the goal gained hath won its prize.

While the labour lasted, while the race was running,

Many times the sinews ached, and half refused the struggle;

But now, all is quietness, a pleasant hour given to repose;

Calmness in the retrospect of good, and calmness in the prospect of a blessing.

Hope was glad in the beginning, and fear was sad midway,

But sweet fruition cometh in the end, a harvest safe and sure.

That which is, can never not have been: facts are solid as the pyramids :
A thing done is written in the rock, yea, with a pen of iron.

Uncertainty no more can scare, the proof is seen complete,
Nor accident render unaccomplished, for the deed is finished.

Thus the end shall crown the work, with grace, grace, unto the topstone,
And the work shall triumph in its crown, with peace, peace, unto the

builder.

I have written, as other some of old, in quaint and meaning phrase,
Of many things for either world, a crowd of facts and fancies:
And will ye judge me, men of mind ?—judge in kindly calmness;
For bitter words of haste or hate have often been repented.
Deep dreaming upon surface reading; imagery crowded over argument ;
Order less considered in the multitude of thoughts; this witnessing is just.
Scripture gave the holier themes, the well-turned words and wisdom;
While Fancy on her swallow's wing skimmed those deeper waters.
And wilt thou say with shrewdness,-He hath burnished up old truths,
But where he seemed to fashion new, the novelty was false?
Alas, for us in these last days, our elders reaped the harvest;
Alas, for all men in all times, who glean so many tares!

That which is true, how should it be new? for time is old in years:
That which is new, how should it be true? for I am young in wisdom.

Nevertheless, I have spoken at my best, according to the mercies given me, Of high, and deep, and famous things, of Evil, or of Good. (25)

I have told of Errors near akin to Truth, and wholesomes linked with poison;

Of subtle Uses in the humblest, and the deep-laid plots of Pride:

I have praised Wisdom, comforted thy Hope, and proved to thee the folly of complainings;

Hinted at the hazard of an influence, and turned thee from the terrors of

Ambition.

11

I have shown thee thy captivity to Law; yet bade thee hide Humilities;
I have lifted the curtains of Memory; and smoothed the soft pillow of
Rest.

Experience had his sober hour; and Character its keen appreciation;
And holy Anger stood sublime, where Hatred fell condemned.
Prayer spake the mind of God, even in his own good words;
And Zeal, with kindness warmly mixt, allied him to Discretion.

I taught thee that nothing is a Trifle, even to the laugh of Recreation :
I led thee with the Train of Religion, to be dazzled at the name of the

Triune.

Thought confessed his unseen fears; and Speech declared his triumphs;
I sang the blessedness of books; and commended the prudence of a letter;
Riches found their room, either unto honour-or despising;

Inventions took their lower place, for all things come of God.

I scorned Ridicule; nor would humble me for Praise; for I had gained Self-knowledge;

And pleaded fervently for Brutes, who suffer for man's sin.

Then, I rose to Friendship; and bathed in all the tenderness of Love; Knew the purity of Marriage: and blessed the face of Children.

And whereas by petulance or pride, I had haply said some evil,

Mine after-thought was Tolerance, to bear the faults of all:
Many faults, ill to hear, bred the theme of Sorrow;
Many virtues, dear to see, induced the gush of Joy.

Thus, for a while, as leaving thee in joy, was I loth to break that spell; I roamed to other things and thoughts, and fashioned other books.

But in a season of reflection, after many days,

A thought stood before me in its garment of the past,—and lo, a legion with it!

They came in thronging bands,—I could not fight nor fly them,—
And so they took me to their tent, the prisoner of thoughts.

Then, I bade thee greet me well, and heed my cheerful counsels;
For every day we have a Friend, who changeth not with time.
Gladly did I speak of my commission, for I felt it graven on my heart,
And could not hold my wiser peace, but magnified mine office.
Mystery had left her echoes in my mind, and I discoursed her secret:
And thence I turned aside to Man, and judged him for his Gifts.
Beauty, noble thesis, had a world of sweets to sing of,

And dated all her praise from God, the birthday of the soul.
Thence grew Fame; and Flattery came like Agag;

But this was as the nauseous dregs of that inspiring cup:
Forth from Flattery sprang in opposition harsh and duli Neglect:
And kind Contentment's gentle face to smile away the sadness.
Life, all buoyancy and light, and Death, that sullen silence,
Sped the soul to Immortality, the final home of man.
Then, in metaphysical review, passed a triple troop,
Swift Ideas, sounding Names, and heavily armed Things;
Faith spake of her achievements even among men her brethren;
And Honesty, with open mouth, would vindicate himself:
The retrospect of social life had many truths to tell of,

And then I left thee to thy Solitude, learning there of Wisdom.

Friend and scholar, lover of the right, mine equal kind companion,

I prize indeed thy favour, and these sympathies are dear:

Still, if thy heart be little with me, wot thou well, my brother,

I canvass not the smile of praise, nor dread the frowns of censure.

Through many themes in many thoughts. have we held sweet converse; But God alone be praised for minu unly is sufficient.

And every thought in every theme by prayer had been established:

Who then should fear the face of man, when God hath answered prayer?

I speak it not in arrogance of heart, but humbly, as of justice,

I think it not in vanity of soul, but tenderly, for gratitude,—

God hath blessed my mind, and taught it many truths;

And I have echoed some to thee, in weakness, yet sincerely:

Yea, though ignorance and error shall have marred those lessons of His teaching,

I stand in mine own Master's praise, or fall to His reproof.

If thou lovest, help me with thy blessing; if otherwise, mine shall be for

thee;

If thou approvest, heed my words: if otherwise, in kindness be my teacher Many mingled thoughts for self have warped my better aim,

Many motives tempted still, to toil for pride or praise :

Alas, I have loved pride and praise, like others worse or worthier;

But hate and fear them now, as snakes that fasten on my hand :

Scævola burnt both hand and crime: but Paul flung the viper on the

fire: